Avatar as Metaphor

Avatar, James Cameron’s latest blockbuster movie that depicts humans in conflict with aliens on a distant world, has smashed box office records. As described in a recent New York Times article (1), it has also struck a cultural nerve, offending a diverse range of special interest groups. Among those critical of the film are political conservatives (who balk at the supposed critique of American imperialism), feminists (who feel that the female avatars not sufficiently muscular), antismoking advocates (who note that one lead character is a smoker), and the Vatican (objecting to the fact that spiritual animism fares better than monotheism). In China, many see the movie as an allegory for the forced relocation of thousands of people in the face of burgeoning construction projects. Amidst this diversity of interpretations, Cameron himself has been relatively silent, except to say that Avatar is a metaphor for “how we treat the natural world.”

Despite its blockbuster budget and runaway success, in the end it’s good to remember that we’re talking about a movie rather than a philosophical treatise. Yet once in a while a popular film comes along with the potential to help refocus our thinking about a pressing societal issue. Although Avatar is loaded with clichés, including the predictable complement of brave heroes and evil villains, as an environmental parable it is nonetheless valuable (at least as I see it), and well worth unpacking. (Warning: If you are one of the few who has not seen this film, and plan to, you might want to skip the next two paragraphs.)

Having ransacked Earth’s natural “resources,” imperialist humans in the mid-22nd Century are now looking to do much the same to other worlds. A corporate interstellar convoy backed by heavily armed marines has landed on a distant moon, Pandora, which contains an abundant supply of energy-rich (and ironically-named) “Unobtanium.” The only problem is the Na’vi, 10 foot tall natives for whom the land and its inhabitants are sacred. Enter ex-marine Jake Sully, who, as an avatar—a human mind in an alien body—infiltrates the locals in order to seek a solution. Sully is soon torn between two worlds, the human world of his birth and the alien world of his “re-birth.” Insert a love story, plenty of explosive battle scenes, and a culminating victory for the good guys, and you have the gist of the plot.

For me (and many others), the most remarkable aspect of this film are the alien landscapes. Hundreds of millions of dollars, great heaps of imagination, and a modicum of science were combined to yield a stunning world, at once wondrous and familiar. In contrast to Earth’s array of four-legged, back-boned land-dwellers, Pandora is inhabited by multiple varieties of six-legged beasts reminiscent of horses, coyotes, rhinos, and other earth-like forms, all presumably descended from a common ancestor with six legs. Unsurprisingly, the alien protagonists are bipeds that appear remarkably human, an unlikely state of affairs biologically, yet understandable from a cinematic perspective. Also present are leathery-winged creatures with more than a passing resemblance to Mesozoic flying reptiles (pterosaurs). But most stunning of all are the plants. I can’t think of another film where the plants upstage many of the film’s stars, but this statement applies to Avatar. Movie-goers are treated to an astonishing forest landscape that drips with greenery by day and fluoresces to the touch by night.

Returning to the film’s message, Avatar tells a story of colliding worldviews. The imperialist-minded humans lack any form of spiritualism, viewing nature as something to be controlled and exploited—by force if necessary. The Na’vi, in stark contrast, practice a form of naturalism; they inhabit a world teeming with animistic spirits and see themselves as intricately interwoven into their land and its history. These lanky blue beings even possess the ability to establish a physical link with other Pandoran life forms. In short, whereas the invading humans regard themselves as outside nature, mirroring the current Western mindset, the Na’vi worldview embeds them deeply within nature, as is true for virtually all indigenous peoples on Earth today.

Although grossly caricatured in this Hollywood dramatization, the inside and outside perspectives of nature may just represent a critical choice that we must soon make as a species. Our current worldview as conquerors of an external nature seems to lead ineluctably down the path of destruction, as evidenced by the many environmental catastrophes of the past century. Conversely, the notion of participants within nature--co-creating a sustainable world with the rest of our biological relatives—although revolutionary and unfamiliar to the Western mind, may just be essential to making us viable once again.

Importantly, the “insider’s” view is entirely consistent not only with ancient wisdom but with modern science, from ecology and evolution to chemistry and physics. Indigenous peoples (whether on Earth or on Pandora) have it right. In order to be whole, we need to feel like we are a part of nature, literally inside the natural world. We need firsthand experiences with the nonhuman world that inspire feelings of awe, wonder, and reverence. We need to live in a meaningful relationship with the rest of nature. To be clear, I’m not advocating a return to tribal living or to some form of animistic religion. In the wake of centuries of science and technology, it would be impossible for industrialized cultures to adopt a pre-modern understanding of the world. Nor am I suggesting that we try to define a single, one-size-fits-all worldview. Instead we must combine insights derived from science with those from wisdom traditions in order to bring alive the notion of humanity existing inside nature. This revolutionary idea can then be accommodated within a wide spectrum of worldviews, both religious and secular.

In Avatar, Cameron’s Na’vi ultimately prevail through violence, meeting force with force. However, in our search to achieve sustainability, violence is not going to win the day. Domination is the tool of the “outsider’s” perspective. The profound challenge we now face is triggering a peaceful revolution, a consciously driven transformation of mind and culture. Momentum for just such a transformation is now building around the world. But success will require that we work quickly to break free from the bonds of outsider thinking and seek sustainable alternatives that (re-)place us firmly within nature.

One of the most unrealistic aspects of Avatar is the ruthless, imperialist mindset of the invading humans. If this outsider, conqueror mentality persists, civilization as we know it likely won't survive the 21st century, let alone maintain the same outdated worldview into the 22nd Century. The destruction of Earth's living systems, on which we depend, simply won't allow it. For now at least, there are no Pandora’s available to us for pillaging (thank goodness). Our home planet, the world that birthed us over a period of almost 4 billion years, is the only one we’ve got. So we’d best concern ourselves less with alternative worlds and concentrate more on alternative perspectives.

References
1. New York Times, January 20, 2010, front page article by Dave Itzkoff: "You Saw What in “Avatar”? Pass Those Glasses.”

Einstein's Paradox

Almost daily, we hear alarming news of ecological catastrophes. Climate change tops the list, with staccato-like reports of disappearing ice sheets, record droughts, and rising sea levels. Yet many other eco-disasters make the news cycle as well, among them disappearing fisheries, topsoil, aquifers, and rainforests. No question, humanity is in a lot of trouble just now. Over the past century, we’ve driven the living world to the ragged edge. To speak of the collapse of civilization may sound more like high drama than impending reality, particularly since things seems to be chugging along just fine at the moment. But the interwoven nature of the global economy (made evident in the recent, widespread economic “downturn”) means that the entire system--that is, civilization—is very sensitive to changes. Make no mistake: we are currently heading down a dark path. Food security in particular has the potential to lead to human suffering on a scale so vast as to be unimaginable (1).

Even more abundant in the headlines are debates over “green” solutions—nuclear versus wind power, local versus organic foods, hybrid cars versus rapid transit, cap and trade versus tax reform. Yet what if our current crisis demands far more than external remedies? What if the core of the problem isn’t “out there” in the environment, but rather inside our minds, more a matter of perception? The truth is, we have the necessary technology, know-how, and money to set humanity and the biosphere on a sustainable path (1). We simply aren’t taking the appropriate actions, as evidenced by the lack of a meaningful agreement reached by world leaders at the recent climate change summit in Copenhagen. Despite the bounty of rhetoric from governments and multi-national corporations, we are not behaving as if the planet is in peril.

In an earlier post, I argued that the single greatest obstacle to sustainability is an outdated worldview that places humanity external and superior to nature. As long as nature is “other,” composed of objects and resources rather than subjects and relatives, how can we possibly hope to establish a mutually enhancing relationship with the nonhuman world?

The most important question of the 21st Century, then, may be this:

How do we rapidly shift Western worldviews so as to re-establish humanity as a part of nature?

At the heart of this question lies a conundrum that might be called “Einstein’s Paradox.” Albert Einstein famously claimed that, “The significant problems we face cannot be solved at the same level of thinking we were at when we created them.” Yet if our significant problems require a new way of thinking, and we remain mired in out-dated thinking, how are we to initiate the transition? The view from inside nature contrasts so fundamentally with our present worldview that the necessary transition is unlikely to occur solely among adults, at least not in the brief time available. The solution to Einstein’s Paradox, I am convinced, will be rooted in children.

Worldviews are like air, sustaining us while remaining largely invisible and unconsidered. As adults, we tend to be firmly entrenched in the dominant perspective, so much so that we often think that our way is the only way of seeing the world. When it is pointed out to us that other cultures have alternative, often radically contrary ways of understanding the world and humanity’s place within it (2), we cling to the notion that our perspective must be the best, or at least the most accurate. Unconsciously, those of us living in Western societies have erected high, defensive walls that, among other things, tend to prevent us from seeing ourselves as embedded in nature, or even feeling a sense of compassion for the nonhuman world. Of course, numerous individuals, grassroots organizations, and even some governments are establishing closer, more intimate links between humans and nature (3), with the number growing daily. To give a single stunning example, in 2008 Ecuador became the first country to grant constitutional rights to nature (4). It is this remarkable, global trend toward linking humans with nonhuman nature that gives me the most hope. Nevertheless, given the gaping human-nature chasm that remains, together with the pace of change required, the necessary shift simply cannot be realized among adults only.

Young minds possess far greater capacity to learn and embrace novel—in this case more sustainable—perspectives. Think of how easily children become fluent in new languages relative to adults. Now think about children raised on a worldview that regards humans not as conquerors of an external nature but as co-creators existing within nature.

Far from passing responsibility on to future generations, however, we must demonstrate the courage, wisdom, and foresight to cultivate the “Insider’s” perspective, at least to the degree possible. Only then will we make the required transformations in both parenting and education. Amongst the necessary changes will be frequent unplugging of our children from the virtual world, encouraging them to spend abundant time outdoors in sensuous contact with the real world. Adult mentors will be necessary to spark not only understanding but, equally important, awe and wonder. Schooling will be less about knowledge and more about wisdom, less about careers and more about living well in place. The Great Story, our epic myth, should be told and retold from childhood through adulthood, becoming our cosmology. Guided by new metaphors of nature, we must raise the next generation of children to stand on our shoulders, and give them new eyes with which to gaze far beyond our most distant horizons.

1. Brown, L. R. 2009. Plan B 4.0: Mobilizing to Save Civilization. Norton, New York, 369 pp.
2. Davis, W. 2009. The Wayfinders: Why Ancient Wisdom Matters in the Modern World. House of Anansi, Toronto, 280 pp.
3. Hawken, P. 2007. Blessed Unrest: How the Largest Movement in the World Came into Being, and Why No One Saw It Coming. Viking, New York, 342 pp.
4. http://dotearth.blogs.nytimes.com/tag/ecuador/

The Extinction of Experience

The following piece of mine appeared this past week on Edge.org, in response to John Brockman's annual question: "How is the Internet Changing the Way You Think?"

Like many others, my personal experience is that the internet is both the Great Source for information and the Great Distractor, fostering compulsions to stay “connected,” often at the expense of other, arguably more valuable aspects of life. I do not sense that the internet alters the way that I think as much as it does the way I work; having the Great Source close at hand is simply irresistible, and I generally keep a window open on my laptop for random searches that pop into my head.

Nevertheless, I am much less concerned about “tweeners” like me who grew up before the internet than I am with children of the internet age, so-called “Digital Natives.” I want to know how the internet changes the way they think. Although the supporting research may still be years away, it seems likely that a lifetime of daily conditioning dictated by the rapid flow of information across glowing screens will generate substantial changes in brains, and thus thinking. Commonly cited potential effects include fragmented thinking and shorter attention spans together with a concomitant reduction (let alone interest) in reflection, introspection, and in-depth thought. Another oft-noted concern is the nature of our communications, which are becoming increasingly terse and decreasingly face-to-face.

But I have a larger fear, one rarely mentioned in these discussions—the extinction of experience. This term, which comes from author Robert Michael Pyle, refers to the loss of intimate experience with the natural world. Clearly, anyone who spends 10-plus hours each day with their attention focused on a screen is not devoting much time to experiencing the “real” world. More and more, it seems, real-life experience is being replaced by virtual alternatives. And, to my mind at least, this is a grave problem. Let me explain.

As the first generation to contemplate the fact that humanity may have a severely truncated future, we live at arguably the most pivotal moment in the substantial history of Homo sapiens. Decisions made and actions taken during the next generation will have an imbalanced impact on the future of humans and all other life on Earth. If we blunder onward on our present course—increasing populations, poverty, greenhouse gas emissions, and habitat destruction—we face no less than the collapse of civilization and the decimation of the biosphere. (For believers and skeptics alike, I highly recommend Lester Brown's exceptional summary of our current eco-crisis and a plan to get us out of it: Plan B 4.0: Mobilizing to Save Civilization, 2009) Given the present dire circumstances, any new far-reaching cultural phenomenon must be evaluated in terms of its ability to help or hinder the pressing work to be done; certainly this concern applies to how the internet influences thinking.

Ecological sustainability, if it is to occur, will include greener technologies and lifestyles. In addition, however, we require a shift in worldview that re-configures our relationship with non-human nature. To give one prominent example of our current dysfunctional perspective, how are we to achieve sustainability as long as we see nature as part of the economy rather than the inverse? Instead of a collection of resources available for our exploitation, nature must become a community of relatives worthy of our respect and a teacher to whom we look for inspiration and insight. In contrast to the present day, sustainable societies will likely be founded on local foods, local materials, and local energy. They will be run by people who have a strong passion for place and a deep understanding of the needs of those places. And I see no way around the fact that this passion and understanding will be grounded in direct, firsthand experiences with those places.

My concern, then, is this: How are we to develop new, more meaningful connections to our native communities if we are staring at computer screens that connect us only to an amorphous worldwide “community?” As is evident to anyone who has stood in a forest or on a seashore, there is a stark difference between a photograph or video and the real thing. Yes, I understand the great potential for the internet to facilitate fact-finding, information sharing, and even community-building of like-minded people. I am also struck by the radical democratization of information that the internet may soon embody. But how are we to establish affective bonds locally if our lives are consumed by virtual experiences on global intermedia? What we require is uninterrupted solitude outdoors, sufficient time for the local sights, sounds, scents, tastes, and textures to seep into our consciousness. What we are seeing is children spending less and less time outdoors actually experiencing the real world and more and more time indoors immersed in virtual worlds.

In effect, my argument is that the internet may influence thinking indirectly through its unrelenting stranglehold on our attention and the resultant death (or at least denudation) of non-virtual experience. If we are to care about larger issues surrounding sustainability, we first must care about our local places, which in turn necessitates direct experiences in those places. As Pyle observes, “what is the extinction of the condor to a child who has never known a wren?”

One thing is certain. We have little time to get our act together. Nature, as they say, bats last. Ultimately, I can envision the internet as a net positive or a net negative force in the critical sustainability effort, but I see no way around the fact that any positive outcome will involve us turning off the screens and spending significant time outside interacting with the real world, in particular the nonhuman world.

Nature: The Insider's View

We live at a momentous time in history punctuated by a race between two tipping points. On the one hand, anthropogenic effects such as increasing poverty, populations, greenhouse gas emissions, and habitat destruction are swiftly pushing the biosphere to the brink of disaster, with no less than the collapse of civilization looming on the horizon. On the other hand, humanity is rapidly waking up to the fact that civilization in its current form is simply not viable, and that we must mobilize quickly, likely within a generation, if we are to avoid catastrophe. For now, it remains uncertain which of these tipping points will be surpassed first, but we owe it to future generations (human and nonhuman) to do everything we can to hasten the arrival of the latter. You may be surprised to learn that the external tools needed to set humanity on a new, sustainable course—including technologies, knowledge, and wealth—are already in place. The central problem in this crisis is our response, which remains sluggish. (For skeptics and non-skeptics alike, I strongly recommend Lester Brown’s updated book, Plan B 4.0, an outstanding and insightful summary of our current ecological predicament and available external solutions.) (1).

The most critical sustainability issue still to be resolved, then, is not external, but internal—a matter of perception rather than technology. The industrialized world remains crippled by an outdated worldview, one founded on a long-standing, yet erroneous assumption—the existence of humanity outside nature. Thus, for example, despite the fact that nature provides the material basis of the economy and that we clearly live on a finite planet, economists (and many others) regard the natural world as a subset of the economy and continue to speak of limitless growth. Yet clearly the opposite is true; the economy is a subset of nature, as evidenced by the fact that we are approaching or exceeding ecological (and thus economic) limits around the world. Another closely related imperative is human domination over nature, which has reduced the natural world to objects and resources (forests as board feet of lumber, oceans as commercial fisheries). Perceiving ourselves as outside of, and superior to, nature, we feel entitled to exploit natural “resources” at will. Emotionally isolated from the nonhuman world, we are left adrift in a sea of objects without any meaningful home, let alone a desire to protect or nurture that home. In addition to new technologies, economies, and lifestyles, then, the sustainability revolution must include a radical shift in worldviews, one that reconfigures the human-nature relationship.

How did we get so far off track? How did nature become “other,” something to be dominated and exploited? The human-nature divide dates back more than 2000 years, closely tied to the development of Western civilization (2). Early Greek philosophers like Plato and Aristotle, while regarding nature as a vast living organism, nevertheless separated humanity from the rest of creation, citing analytical reason as the critical distinguishing feature. Later, Judeo-Christian traditions carried this idea further, positioning humans at the apex of creation, with divinely decreed dominion over nature. Suddenly, the natural world resided at the bottom of a “Great Chain of Being,” with humanity positioned at the halfway point between beasts and angels. Nature in these religious conceptions was sometimes conceived as evil, forcing humans to repress their “lower,” animal nature in order to realize a “higher, celestial stature. Increasingly, the notion of conquering, exploiting, and enslaving nature became engrained in the Western mind.

During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, human dominion over nature became secularized, now driven by the scientific revolution. No longer linked through a Great Chain, a conceptual chasm formed between humans and nature. Such luminaries as Galileo, Newton, Descartes, and Bacon cast off lingering fears of divine retribution and transformed nature into dead matter—thoughtless, clock-like machines to be exploited for great gain. The eighteenth century Enlightenment, buoyed by new technologies together with unbridled confidence in reason and science, completed the disenchantment of nature and expanded the conqueror mindset. Interestingly, a more secularized version of the Great Chain of Being returned into vogue at this time, sowing the seeds of what would later become the science of ecology. Yet the gulf between nature and humanity remained largely intact through the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, sustained by the twin notions of inexorable progress and civilization’s triumph over nature.

If no counter-revolution had occurred promoting intimate links between humanity and nature, I would hold out little hope for our ability to reverse the current slide toward civilizational collapse. Yet just such a counter movement has been underway since the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, beginning with philosophers like John Ray, Giordano Bruno, and Baruch Spinoza. During the eighteenth century, the Romantic Movement picked up the torch; poets like Coleridge, Wordsworth, Shelley, and Blake resisted the hegemony of analytical reason and objectivity, pointing instead to the power of emotion and subjectivity, personal experience and imagination. During the nineteenth century, philosophers and scientists such as Hegel, Thoreau, Darwin, and Huxley argued convincingly for a deep continuity between nature and humanity, a trend continued in the twentieth century by Muir, Leopold, Carson, Berry, and many others. Like their Romantic forerunners, the latter group emphasized the role of subjective experience, emphasizing the importance of awe, wonder, and reverence. Within science, the notion of Earth as a living organism has come almost full circle; once advocated by the ancient Greeks, today this idea is put forth by some proponents (though, I should add, not by most scientists) of the Gaia Hypothesis.

So now it’s our turn. We must complete this counter-revolution, reversing the multi-millennial mindset of Western cultures by reinserting humanity inside nature. We must learn to see ourselves not as conquerors of an external nature but as co-creators existing within nature. The “Insider” view is now strongly supported by sciences ranging from physics and chemistry to ecology and evolutionary biology. And it is bolstered by a growing numbers of philosophers, educators, nature writers, spiritual organizations, and grassroots movements (3). Only by completing this transition in perspective can we hope to accomplish the “Great Turning,” moving from an "industrial growth society to a life-sustaining society" (4). Our efforts can be aided by learning from indigenous peoples, who have always considered humanity to be part of nature (5). Importantly, this fundamental shift can be realized within a broad spectrum of religious and secular worldviews, so there is no need to advocate a single, one-size-fits-all perspective.

One way or another, dramatic change is coming soon. The world’s top scientists are in agreement that, if we blunder onward on our present destructive path, the near-term consequences will include decimation of the biosphere and the breakdown of civilization, with unthinkable human suffering. Conversely, if we mobilize quickly, likely within a generation, we can find a new, sustainable path. In addition to implementing new technologies and behaviors, getting the “inside view” of nature will be an essential element in this Great Work of our time.

References
1. Brown, L. R. 2009. Plan B 4.0: Mobilizing to Save Civilization. Norton, New York, 369 pp.
2. Marshall, P. 1992. Nature’s Web: An Exploration of Ecological Thinking. Simon & Schuster, London, 513 pp.
3. Hawken, P. 2007. Blessed Unrest: How the Largest Movement in the World Came into Being, and Why No One Saw It Coming. Viking, New York, 342 pp.
4. Macy, J. 2007. World as Lover, World as Self: Courage for Global Justice and Ecological Renewal. Parallax Press, Berkeley, 206 pp.
5. Nelson, M. K. (ed.). 2008. Original Instructions; Indigenous Teachings for a Sustainable Future. Bear & Company, New York, 384 pp.

Topobiophiliacs Unite!

On my way home today I ran the usual gauntlet of big box stores and fast food restaurants—McDonald's, ToysRUs, Burger King, Walmart; you know the drill. Tens of millions of people around the country (and many other countries) will do the same on this day, traveling paved pathways through neon mazes emblazoned with all-too-familiar logos. Just as these corporations are generally based far away, so too the energy fueling our cars (and heating our homes upon arrival) comes from distant locales. The same is true for most of the foods we eat, the music we listen to, and the information we consume on television and the internet. Globalization has homogenized the industrialized world (and large parts of the non-industrialized world). Is it any wonder, then, that, awash in this sea of sameness, few of us feel a strong attachment to the places that we live? After all, if one place looks basically like any other, what difference does it make which of these you call home? Bolstering this detached state of affairs is the recent trend for people to live and work in multiple states, provinces, and/or countries over the course of their lives.

Such rampant uniformity and unrootedness is new for us, just a few decades old. For most of our lengthy duration, we humans have been intimately tied to our natal places such that the local scents, sounds, sights, tastes, and textures became integrated into our sense of identity. In addition to being steeped in the local community—its culture, foods, and personalities—we knew many of the local animals and plants and understood local rhythms—what month of the year a certain migrating bird arrived or a particular crop should be planted.

Previously in this blog and in its foundational essay, I have argued that Western societies currently suffer from a dysfunctional relationship with nonhuman nature, and that a sustainable future must include not only greener technologies and lifestyles, but a radically transformed worldview as well. Specifically, I have made the claim that three key elements are needed: 1) new metaphors (e.g., the tree of life, the whirlpool of life); 2) a new story, or origin myth (the Great Story, from the Big Bang to us); and 3) a renewed sense of place. Recent posts have addressed the first and second of these items. Today I will delve a little deeper into the third.

Presently, there is a tremendous need to buck the homogenization trend and re-establish our relationship to place. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not suggesting that we forsake the supposed “evils” of industrialization and return to tribal living, or even move toward a purely local existence. Barring the collapse of civilization (a real threat), globalization is here to stay, at least for awhile. Nevertheless, sustainable living (the antidote necessary to avoid civilizational collapse) must include strong local components (1). For example, most of the food in sustainable societies will be raised locally and change on a seasonal basis. Similarly, in stark contrast to our present dependence on fossil fuels from the Middle East, energy will come predominantly from local, renewable sources: geothermal, solar, and wind. And since every place has its own unique characteristics—for example, topography, climate, vegetation, water supply, and culture —sustainability will, by necessity, be closely tied to local needs. Thus, any successes in achieving sustainability at higher levels (state, nation, biosphere) will be realized only through the amalgamation of sustainable societies in local places, with the latter roughly equivalent to watersheds or “bioregions.”

Yet, given present trends towards globalization and homogenization, how are we to shift worldviews, moving from rampant placelessness to a meaningful sense of place? To begin with, how can we encourage large numbers of people to recognize the value of place and local community? In an effort to address these questions, I have become increasingly interested in the intersection of two concepts: “biophilia” and “topophilia.” Although they may sound like contagious diseases, this pair of ideas may just be critical ingredients for resolving the current eco-crisis. Biophilia, often defined as the human bond with other species, was described by biologist E. O. Wilson (2). Wilson suggested that this bond was innate, the result of millions of years of evolution in intimate contact with the nonhuman world. Topophilia, defined as an affective bond with place, is a lesser known concept described in particular by geographer Yi-Fu Tuan (3). In short, topophilia refers to a love of place, and biophilia to a love of life. I have often wondered if our long heritage as place-based beings means that we also have an innate tendency to develop bonds with the places we live. Combining the two ideas, it seems reasonable to postulate that we have within us a genetic predisposition to form bonds with the other life forms that live in and around our home places.

Whether or not the above hypothesis is borne out, it seems to me that we need to work toward building emotional connections with the living beings that share our native places; after all, they are key to our survival. It seems highly improbable that such connections can be forged through books, television, or the internet. No, if we are to renew our relationship with nonhuman nature, it must come from direct, firsthand experience. Fortunately, a number of recent movements are taking us in the right direction, and demonstrating the benefits of fostering both topophilia and biophilia. Below I mention three of these.

First, farmers markets are making a strong comeback in North America and Europe (1). These markets are full of local, sustainably harvested, often organic foods with a tiny fraction of the travel miles (and thus greenhouse gas emissions) that typify most foods in the Western World. Many participating farms conduct tours, allowing people to see firsthand where their food comes from and how it is raised. Second in this brief list is the recent “No Child Left Inside” movement, which aims to reverse recent trends and get children outside exploring nature as a means of enhancing physical and emotional health. This grassroots effort, triggered by Richard Louv’s book Last Child in the Woods (4), is now supported by nonprofits such as the Children and Nature Network (http://www.childrenandnature.org/). The leaders of this effort recognize that, in most instances, lasting bonds with nature will be rooted in firsthand childhood experience outdoors. The third and final example is the schooling for sustainability movement, which has a strong place-based emphasis (5, 6). Although still nascent and concentrated in independent schools, this effort to learn from nature and to focus education on place, community, and service is perhaps the most exciting of all. Programs such as school gardens and reclaiming local watersheds promote both understanding and a passion for place (see also ecoliteracy.org).

What can you do? Get more informed about, and engaged in, your place. Where does your food come from? Chances are that local, healthy food alternatives are available if you are not already tapping into these. Where do your wastes (i.e., garbage and sewage) go to? Are there ways to reduce your impacts? Can you (and, if applicable, your kids) name a dozen local plants and animals? What types of community projects need your help? What children can you get outside and mentor? As a New Years resolution, think about adding one or two items that address local issues. In short, vow to become a lifetime topobiophiliac! Not only will you be healthier—your community will be too. Plus, it will be great fun explaining your new affliction to others!

References
1. Brown, L. R. 2009. Plan B 4.0: Mobilizing to Save Civilization. Norton, New York.
2. Wilson, E. O. 1986. Biophilia: The Human Bond with other Species. Harvard University Press, Boston.
3. Tuan, Y-F. 1990. Topophilia: A Study of Environmental Perceptions, Attitudes, and Values. Columbia University Press, New York (reprinted: original published in 1974).
4. Louv, R. 2006. Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children from Nature-Deficit Disorder. Algonquin Books, Chapel Hill, NC.
5. Sobel, D. 1996. Beyond Ecophobia: Reclaiming the Heart in Nature Education. Orion Society, Great Barrington.
6. Stone, M. K. 2009. Smart By Nature: Schooling for Sustainability. University of California Press, Berkeley.

Going with the Flow

For most of us, metaphors are merely figures of speech, something used to spruce up the end of a sentence—hardly the kind of tool one might enlist in saving the living world. Yet these simple expressions comparing one thing to another thing turn out to be more powerful than we could ever have imagined. Beginning with a ground-breaking 1980 book by George Lakoff and Mark Johnson(1), linguists and psychologists have demonstrated conclusively that we literally think in metaphors, using these abstract comparisons to make sense of our world. Consider the metaphor “time is money.” By speaking of wasting time, budgeting time, or living on borrowed time, we make it clear that time for us is a valuable commodity. The notion of time as money is a relatively recent one closely linked to Western cultures, and not to many others past and present. We internalize hundreds of these conceptual metaphors—for example, argument is war, affection is warmth, and up is good—during development, and they become the lenses through which we see and understand reality. The beauty and danger of metaphors is that most of the time we use them unconsciously. But it is high time we took greater notice because, although metaphors help us navigate our way through the world, they can also cause us to accept inaccurate concepts or beliefs as “real.”

For the past four centuries, the machine has served as the dominant metaphor for life, causing us to regard organisms as amalgamations of parts. Although this reductionist perspective has generated tremendous insights—among them the germ theory of disease and the genetic basis of all life—the life-as-machine metaphor also transforms organisms into objects, fueling the notion that humans are meant to dominate nature. With a mechanistic mindset, forests become board feet of lumber and oceans are reduced to fisheries, hardly a recipe for sustainable living. Today the machine metaphor remains largely unchallenged, perpetuating a dysfunctional relationship between human and non-human life. And, as argued by numerous authors, this relationship threatens to bring down civilization itself.

The only commonly used alternative at present is the web of life, a metaphor that directs much-needed attention at wholes rather than parts, highlighting the myriad interconnections that embed humans into the living world. The web of life is a powerful and evocative symbol(2). Yet it does little to challenge the nature of being indicated by a mechanistic worldview. On the contrary, since it is generally defined only in terms of causal connections, the web metaphor often reinforces this age-old perspective, with organisms serving as the cogs and pulleys that keep the ecosystem “machine” running smoothly.

I am convinced that we are in desperate need of additional metaphors that more accurately represent the living world—and specifically the nature of being—as we understand it in the 21st Century. One possibility with considerable potential is what I have called the whirlpool of life. Everything flows, from air, water, atoms, and blood to apparently dense and unyielding things, like rocks, trees, and mountains. Particularly when we shift focus to atomic levels or geologic timescales, the internal make-up of things turns out to be ever-shifting, like river currents. Akin to whirlpools, organisms can be envisioned as swirling, evanescent concentrations of energy with poorly-defined boundaries that arise from the background flow, exist for a brief time, and then dissipate back into that flow. We are not merely interconnected with the natural world but derived from it, constantly re-making ourselves from the energy of the flow while retaining much the same form. In essence, then, the whirlpool of life is a dual metaphor of both river and whirlpool. Like the machine, the swirling whirlpool represents the focal level of interest (say, cell, organism, or ecosystem). And like the web, the flowing river provides the background context (for example, the organism surrounding the cell, or the ecosystem encompassing the organism). The river also exemplifies the passage of deep time, as well as the force that connects all things into a single, unified story, from the Big Bang to the present day.

If the downward spiral of a whirlpool initially conjures up negative connotations, think about how energy flows through you. Just like other animals, we consume air, water, and food that spiral downward to sustain our bodies before dissipating back into the environment in a degraded form. As I stated in the kick-off essay for this blog, “the notion of a river whirlpool fosters very different, yet highly instructive and scientifically accurate, conceptions of birth (emergence, evolution), of life (flow, transience, continual self-making), and of death (dissipation, transformation, recycling). In contrast to the still dominant machine and web metaphors, the whirlpool encourages us to view other life forms not as objects, but as subjects—fellow travelers in the current of this deep time river. On a still more profound level, a vortex perspective enables us to envision ourselves and other organisms not as ‘things’ at all, but as processes deeply and inextricably embedded in the background flow. In sum, [this metaphor] has potential to be at least as striking and potent as the web of life, directing much needed attention toward the flowing, transitory, and transformative aspects of nature and being.”

I am certainly not the first to compare life to whirlpools. Consider this 1950 statement from mathematician Norbert Weiner(3,4).

"Pattern is the “organized complexity” from which all life was assembled and human beings ultimately emerged. That pattern of organization is the touchstone of our personal identity. Our tissues change as we live; the food we eat and the air we breathe become flesh of our flesh and bone of our bone...We are but whirlpools in a river of ever-flowing water. We are not stuff that abides but patterns that perpetuate themselves."

To my knowledge, however, no one has proposed the whirlpool as a metaphor to challenge the hegemony of the machine. A great strength of the whirlpool, I would argue, is that, like the web, it is a familiar aspect of nature. Its primary symbol, the spiral, is also a common natural phenomenon, from unfurled ferns(5) to swirling tornadoes to immense galaxies. Additionally, the spiral is an ancient, almost ubiquitous cross-cultural symbol that resonates deeply in the human subconscious(6). This motif appears, for example, in Celtic monuments, Arabic architecture, Japanese rock gardens, Greek mythology, Australian aboriginal paintings, Native American petroglyphs, and African art. Spirals have often been used to represent flow and change--including the cycling of days, seasons, and entire lives—as well as physical and spiritual journeys. I am not proposing that the whirlpool replace the machine as the dominant metaphor; we will need many additional examples to help us through the present eco-crisis. Nevertheless, a spiraling whirlpool within a flowing river may just be a fitting symbol for humanity’s journey into an uncertain future.

References and Notes
1) Lakoff, G. and M. Johnson. 1980. Metaphors We Live By. University of Chicago Press, Chicago.
2) Capra, F. 1996. The Web of Life: A New Scientific Understanding of Living Systems. Anchor Books, New York.
3) Weiner, N. 1950. The Human Use of Human Beings. Houghton Mifflin, New York (quotation, p. 96).
4) Thanks to my friend Antonio Pares for bringing this quotation to my attention.
5) Fern image is from: http://livingyogavt.com/images/fern_spiral.jpg
6) Ward, G. 2006. Spirals: The Pattern of Existence. Green Magic, Somerset, UK.

Evolution Changes Everything

Evolution is the scientific idea that will change everything within next several decades.

I recognize that this statement might seem improbable. If evolution is defined generally, simply as change over time, the above statement borders on meaningless. If regarded in the narrower, Darwinian sense, as descent with modification, any claim for evolution’s starring role also appears questionable, particularly given that 2009 is the 150th anniversary of the publication of On the Origin of Species. Surely Darwin’s “Dangerous Idea,” however conceived, has made its mark by now. Nevertheless, I base my claim on evolution’s probable impacts in two great spheres: human consciousness and science and technology.

Today, the commonly accepted conception of evolution is extremely narrow, confined largely to the realm of biology and a longstanding emphasis on mutation and natural selection. In recent decades, this limited perspective has become further entrenched by the dominance of molecular biology and its “promise” of human-engineered cells and lifeforms. Emphasis has been placed almost entirely on the generation of diversity—a process referred to as “complexification”—reflecting the reductionist worldview that has driven science for four centuries.

Yet science has also begun to explore another key element of evolution—unification—which transcends the biological to encompass evolution of physical matter. The numerous and dramatic increases in complexity, it turns out, have been achieved largely through a process of integration, with smaller wholes becoming parts of larger wholes. Again and again we see the progressive development of multi-part individuals from simpler forms. Thus, for example, atoms become integrated into molecules, molecules into cells, and cells into organisms. At each higher, emergent stage, older forms are enveloped and incorporated into newer forms, with the end result being a nested, multilevel hierarchy.

At first glance, the process of unification appears to contravene the second law of thermodynamics by increasing order over entropy. Again and again during the past 14 billion years, concentrations of energy have emerged and self-organized as islands of order amidst a sea of chaos, taking the guise of stars, galaxies, bacteria, gray whales, and, on at least one planet, a biosphere. Although the process of emergence remains somewhat of a mystery, we can now state with confidence that the epic of evolution has been guided by counterbalancing trends of complexification and unification. This journey has not been an inevitable, deterministic march, but a quixotic, creative unfolding in which the future could not be predicted.

How will a more comprehensive understanding of evolution affect science and technology? Already a nascent but fast-growing industry called “biomimicry” taps into nature’s wisdom, imitating sustainable, high performance designs and processes acquired during four billion years of evolutionary R&D. Water repellant lotus plants inspire non-toxic fabrics. Termite mounds inspire remarkable buildings that make use of passive cooling. Spider silk may provide inspiration for a new, strong, flexible, yet rigid material with innumerable possible uses. Ultimately, plant photosynthesis may reveal secrets to an unlimited energy supply with minimal waste products.

The current bout of biomimicry is just the beginning. I am increasingly convinced that ongoing research into such phenomena as complex adaptive systems will result in a new synthesis of evolution and energetics—let’s call it the “Unified Theory of Evolution”—that will trigger a cascade of novel research and designs. Science will relinquish its unifocal downward gaze on reductionist nuts and bolts, turning upward to explore the “pattern that connects.” An understanding of complex adaptive systems will yield transformative technologies we can only begin to imagine. Think about the potential for new generations of “smart” technologies, with the capacity to adapt, indeed to evolve and transform, in response to changing conditions.

And what of human consciousness? Reductionism has yielded stunning advances in science and technology. However, its dominant metaphor, life-as-machine, has left us with a gaping chasm between the human and non-human worlds. With “Nature” (the non-human world) reduced merely to resources, humanity’s ever-expanding activities have become too much for the biosphere to absorb. We have placed ourselves, and the biosphere, on the precipice of a devastating ecological crisis, without the consciousness for meaningful progress toward sustainability.

At present, Western culture lacks a generally accepted cosmology, a story that gives life meaning. One of the greatest contributions of the scientific enterprise is the epic of evolution, sometimes called the Universe Story. For the first time, thanks to the combined efforts of astronomers, biologists, and anthropologists (among many others), we have a realistic, time-developmental understanding of the 14 billion year history of us. Darwin’s tree of life has roots that extend back to the Big Bang, and fresh green shoots reach into an uncertain future. Far from leading to a view that the Universe is meaningless, this saga provides the foundation for seeing ourselves as fully embedded into the fabric of nature. To date, this story has had minimal exposure, and certainly has not been included (as it should be) in the core of our educational curricula.

Why am I confident that these transformations will occur in the near future? In large part because necessity is the mother of invention. We are the first generation of humans to face the prospect that humanity may have a severely truncated future. In addition to new technologies, we need a new consciousness, a new worldview, and new metaphors that establish a more harmonious relationship between the human and the non-human. Of course, the concept of “changing everything” makes no up-front value judgments, and I can envision evolution’s net contribution as being either positive or negative, depending on whether the shift in human consciousness keeps pace with the radical expansion of new (and potentially even more exploitative) technologies. In sum, our future R&D efforts need to address human consciousness in at least equal measure to science and technology.

(This piece first appeared on www.edge.org, and will soon be published in: J. Brockman [ed.], This Will Change Everything, Harper Perennial)